


Hesitant Regeneration of an Alien

by myxstorie



Category: Bandom, Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Gerard Way and the Hormones, Hesitant Alien - Gerard Way (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myxstorie/pseuds/myxstorie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am so sorry, I don’t even know what this is. I blame <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-P"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://turtle-aya.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://turtle-aya.livejournal.com/"><b>turtle_aya</b></a> <i>completely</i> for whatever happens below the cut. Some kind of Doctor Who/MCR crossover thing because GWay never ages, so <i>of course</i> that means he’s really a Timelord, but it really makes no sense whatsoever. Which leads me to believe wholeheartedly that it would be a <i>perfect</i> Moffatt episode >_>;; <a href="http://velvetindependent.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/gerard-e1411593830698.jpg?w=626&h=372&crop=1">This incarnation of G</a>, not that it's really important....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hesitant Regeneration of an Alien

Hands shaking, the Doctor gets to his feet. He twitches awkwardly, like he’s not quite done yet, and Clara sees his eyes flash yellow before mellowing out into their new colour. Then, he opens his mouth.

"Where the fuck am I? Oh, no, am I _American_?! Scottish was brilliant, British was _awesome_ , oh fuck, I'm saying 'awesome' and it doesn't even sound sarcastic." He pauses. "And apparently I've got a cursing habit. Fuck. What's my hair like? Am I ginger yet?"

Clara stares for a moment, then realises he's actually stopped talking and is waiting for an answer. _First time for everything._ "Uh... Kind of?” She says, tilting her head with a frown. “I think... I think it might be dyed, actually..."

"You sound weird." He interrupts, and that's more like it. " _Dyed_? I've never dyed my hair in my _life_! What’s happening to me?!"

"On the bright side," she chirps, "You look young again!"

The Doctor grabs hold of the console screen with both hands and slaps at it frantically until the front-facing camera fires up and his new face appears on the screen. "Young?!" He bursts, face stricken, "I look like a twelve-year-old boy!"

Clara shrugs, "I didn't say _how_ young..."

"My _God_ , I'm so pale!" The Doctor drags a hand over the side of his face and takes one cheek between two fingers, pulling and twisting until his mouth contorts into a half-formed grimace up the side of his face. "Am I a _vampire_? I'm a Timelord! We don't just turn into vampires like this!"

"You're not a vampire," Clara starts calmly, and The Doctor steamrolls right over her.

"How would you know!? Would I have told you if I was? My eyes are so red, why are my eyes all red? Am I sick? My _God_ , am I ginger all over now? Do I dye my eyes?!"

Clara opens her mouth, then thinks better of it.

"And have you seen my teeth? They're the size of peas! Who has teeth this small?! Why am I only using half of my mouth to talk? Is the left side of my face not cooked yet? Is that why my teeth are so small? A lack of exposure to the elements, natural selection at its best... Coffee. Why do I want coffee? I _love_ coffee, why is there no coffee here?!" He lets go of the console and stumbles, only just managing to latch onto the barrier before he hits the floor face first.

“I could get you some tea?” Clara offers, taking care to keep a safe six feet between the two of them at all times.

The Doctor runs down the steps and ducks underneath the console, pulling open cabinets Clara was _sure_ weren’t there before. “Coffee! There must be a coffee machine here somewhere, this can’t be the only body that’s ever needed caffeine…”

“You don’t remember?” She asks, leaning over the balcony to watch and make sure he doesn’t end up accidentally electrocuting himself.

“Of course I don’t remember, why would I bother remembering something so tedious?” He scoffs, and Clara purses her lips and says nothing. Thankfully, she doesn’t need to.

“Yes!” The Doctor crows, dragging himself bodily into the cupboard. There’s some worrying banging and cursing, but eventually he emerges looking ten times more ruffled and a hundred times happier, brandishing a beaten-up, ancient-looking coffee maker. “Now, coffee…”

-

Six cups of eye-wateringly strong, you-could-stand-a-spoon-up-in-this coffee later, and he’s… mellowed. Clara is so on edge she’s practically shaking while she waits for the caffeine to really kick in, but it’s been half an hour now and The Doctor has stopped running around, stopped panicking and is just generally _not_ freaking out. It’s unsettling. Do Timelords react differently to caffeine? There really needs to be a support group for this kind of thing.

“So…” She starts slowly, approaching with caution in case he suddenly lashes out like an angry bear. It’s been known to happen. “… How are you feeling?”

He turns to her with a lopsided grin. “Good. I feel good.”

“Right…” Clara is not convinced, but The Doctor doesn’t appear to notice.

“I feel fuckin’ _great_ , like I could do anything! I need to do something, something _big_ , something amazing, something life-changing!”

 _There goes the coffee_. Clara barely manages to stop herself hiding her face in her hands, and doesn’t waste her breath telling him he does something life-changing _every day_. The Doctor breezes past her, another cup of coffee already in hand, then spins to face her again before there’s more than ten paces between them.

“How do I make a difference, Clara? What do people _listen to_? Being a politician is no good, no good at all, look at what happened to Harriet Jones!”

“… You’re an alien…” Clara points out carefully.

“People don’t listen to aliens! They think aliens don’t exist no matter how much proof you shove under their noses, however many times you save them from an unthinkable demise, no, you humans, you’d much rather stick your fingers in your ears, close your eyes, bury your heads in the sand and pretend all those things you don’t understand don’t exist at all!”

Clara coughs, frowns. The Doctor blinks, and she’s momentarily hopeful that he’s learning, but then he looks away and the moment is gone. “Children hate adults, adults hate children, it’s a wonder any of you grow up to be half-sane individuals really, you never listen to each other. No, you’d much rather read trashy fuckin’ magazines and idolise celebrities you know nothing about.” A look of realisation falls on his face, and Clara takes a moment to think _oh, no._

“That’s it!” He bursts. “Fuckin’ genius! You listen to celebrities! I should be, I should be a _rockstar_!”

“Are you sure that’s the best i-“ Clara starts, but he barrels straight over her.

“A rockstar, it’s perfect! Humans are always looking for hidden messages in music, The White Album, The Wall, you _love_ them.” The Doctor is all hands, gesturing wildly around his face. Clara’s a little worried he’s going to hurt himself. “It’s the best way!”

“But, Doctor-“

"No, no, I'm a rockstar now, I need a new name, a better name, a _rockstar_ name... Gerard!"

Clara laughs so hard she chokes on her own spit, and by the time she realises he isn't laughing with her she has eyeliner-smeared tear tracks down both cheeks. Several long, deep breaths later she's able to compose herself enough to squeak out a quiet, "Gerard?" without bursting a blood vessel.

"Gerard!" He exclaims again. "What's so funny about Gerard?"

Rhetorical question, she's sure, but he answers it for her anyway.

"Gerard Presence, legendary jazz musician. Gerard and the Watchmen, fantastic little folk group. Gerard Johnson, worked with some of the UK's greatest visionaries. Gerard Smith, okay, he might've been American but he was a _genius_. Gerard-"

"Okay!" Clara cuts him off, wanting to get out of there before she dies of old age. "Gerard's great, I get it. Gerard it is."

"Gerard."

"Gerard." She nods. "Are you gonna have a surname? Or are you gonna be like, Madonna?"

"No way," The Doc- Gerard says, and that is going to take some getting used to.

Clara raises an eyebrow. “Way?”

“What?”

“Gerard Way?” She repeats, and he frowns.

“No, that’s not what I- although… that’s actually not half bad. Gerard Way. You’re not as stupid as you look, Clara Oswald.”

“Uh… Thanks?”

“Gerard Way…” He says again, trying the name out for size. “I like it. Snappy. Sharp.” He snaps his coat then, lip twisting in distaste. “But this, this is not going to work. Far too old, old and… and _sophisticated_.” He spits the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and Clara barely muffles a snicker behind her hand. “I need new clothes!”

He doesn’t appear to notice the great thud Clara’s forehead makes as it hits the wall, and brushes past her to leap up the stairs and disappear down the corridor.


End file.
